Lifetime of Love

Plymouth memories span three generations

Feature Article from Hemmings Classic Car

It's hard to forget your first love. No matter how much time passes, you always remember that moment when you first laid eyes on the object of your affections. In Ron Baenninger's case, the love affair never ended; he remained true to his beloved Plymouths until the very end.
As a child in Saskatchewan, Ron frequently occupied the red leather rumble seat of his grandfather's 1938 Plymouth coupe. A wheat farmer, Ron's grandfather was allotted extra gasoline under the Canadian wartime rationing system, so the family was able to take the occasional trip across the prairie.
"I would tread carefully on the appointed steps and crouch down in the rumble seat," recalls Ron. "Soon the wind was blowing through my hair and the dust clouds from the gravel roads were churning behind us. I really loved that Plymouth."
Unfortunately, those same roads proved the car's undoing. "One evening, it all came to an end in a deep, unmarked hole in the road. Even gophers didn't dig such big holes, and I was convinced that it was an act of sabotage by enemy agents. Grandpa lost a few teeth, Grandma's dignity was very ruffled, and the poor Plymouth seemed beyond help."
With production of new cars halted by the war, Ron's grandfather set out to repair the Plymouth. His mechanic, more concerned with functionality than aesthetics, scrounged around area junkyards for spare parts, eventually returning the car to service. Ron still remembers his first look at the resurrected vehicle.
"As a five-year-old, I noticed right away that the hood ornament had been changed from the delicate silhouette of a sailing ship into a leaping ram with large, curled horns. The Plymouth front had been magically transformed into a Dodge front with a different radiator grille and a different hood ornament. With a Dodge front and a Plymouth rear, was it a Dodgemouth, or perhaps a Plodge?
"But the engine started right up and ran fine. It was clear, though, that welding the chassis had not been completely successful. The car was traveling at a noticeable angle as Grandpa drove off. But it worked, and survived until the end of the war. It was distinctive, and had a unique charm that other Plymouths lacked."
Ron's love of Plymouths continued into his teens, when his father bought a 1953 Plymouth Cranbrook two-door in a metallic blue with a light blue top. He got his driver's license in that car on a visit to Saskatchewan, testing the three-speed transmission--and his parents' nerves--as he experienced the freedom of the front seat for the first time.
Later, the tables were turned when he became the proud owner of a slightly used, manual transmission Plymouth Voyager minivan. His wife, used to driving automatic, learned how to handle the new family car. "Listening to the grinding noises she made, I could appreciate Dad's patience with me all those years before," Ron says.
"Plymouth graciously replaced the clutch for us at no charge - which left me with a final happy memory of the last Plymouth in my life. What a shame they're gone, after spending three generations together."

This article originally appeared in the September, 2007 issue of Hemmings Classic Car.